


Prelude to the Darkness

by Scarlettpeony



Series: From Shadows to Stars [1]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Adultery, Azure Moon Timeline, Battle, Blue Lion Route, Canon Universe, Embedded Images, F/M, Infidelity, Non-Graphic Smut, Non-Graphic Violence, Post-War Phase, References to Character Death, Sexual Content, Smut, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-16 05:55:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21031331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlettpeony/pseuds/Scarlettpeony
Summary: "She knew it was wrong, that she should feel guilty for this. She was married, an archbishop and the queen-consort. Yet any regret she ever felt was repressed by how right being with Claude felt."Byleth is leading the armies against an insurrection in the south against dark mages who once served Edelgard King Dimitri, her husband holds down the fort in Fhirdiad. Thankfully, her army is bolstered through the aid of Fódlan's most dependable ally, the King of Almyra.But unbeknownst to everyone, he and Byleth have become lovers.





	Prelude to the Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> Set in a post-canon Azure Moon timeline, though the series may contain references to the Crimson Flower, Silver Snow and Verdant Wind reveals and scenarios.
> 
> ##### Edit(s)
> 
> * [14/Jun/2020] Tweaked a few errors in the chronology of the story.  
* [11/Oct/2020] Major overhaul with new content added to 'Prelude to the Darkness' plus a map of the surrounding area.

✷

It would have been naive to think that defeating Edelgard would ensure a generation of peace. Byleth had known this at the back of her mind even as she and Dimitri had walked from that throne room, the blood of the emperor's pierced heart still dripping from Areadbhar. That was why she had been so determined that Dimitri did not look back - he had to keep walking forward. 

One enemy had been vanquished, but there would be other trials and tribulations before Dimitri would be settled on the throne: internal struggles, rebellions and uprisings from both former imperial and Alliance territories; external threats from the frigid Sreng region to the mysterious western continent of Dagda; and unquestionably new enemies never before encountered would crop-up, bringing with them new dangers Byleth hadn't even considered yet. 

It was the way of the world. Human nature would always ensure conflict somewhere, and all they could do was face it head-on.

Dimitri had accepted this fact with a tinge of sorrow. Yet he believed this would be his redemption, his means to make amends for the countless lives he ruined during the Five-Year War of Fódlan. Darkness might have consumed him, but thanks in no small part to the sacrifices of those who believed in him, he had been saved. Though he was haunted by voices crying for vengeance, instead of giving himself over to their demands with blood, he hoped to appease them by writing the wrongs of the past, by making their deaths count for something. 

Dimitri would make it his calling to rebuild the realm from the bottom up, rather than top-down.

_ "That, I believe, was _**her **_mistake," _ he had told the packed Church at his coronation, after Byleth - as archbishop - had placed the crown on his head. _ "The Adrestian emperor erroneously antagonised the Church and targetted people's faith. She sought to flatten the cultures of Faerghus and Leicester to become the sole hegemony of Fódlan and enforce the changes she desired without opposition. Without allowing the people to choose their faith over her ideals." _

He seldom called Edelgard by name anymore, as though to do so would give her ghost power. 

_ "I assure you all that I will not be so arrogant as to presume I know what's best for every barony. I will rely on others to educate me on every corner of my realm." _

Determined to leave the kingdom a better place than when he found it, Dimitri would rebuild from the ground up - and Byleth wanted nothing more than to help him see it through. 

She had a limited understanding of her feelings, but she felt so strongly about the mission that she believed this had to be what her father had meant when he left her mother's ring to her. 

His voice still resounded in her mind:

_ One day I hope you love someone as well as I loved her. _

And honestly, Byleth loved all of her students dearly: sweet Ashe, prickly Felix, gentle Dedue, kind Mercedes, cheerful Annette, genteel Flayn, sensible Ingrid and flippant Sylvain. Then there were the others who had joined their ranks from the wistful Dorothea to the conscientious Ignatz; from friendly Hilda to wise little Lysithea. Bold Leonie, who had admired her father Jeralt so highly she almost came to look upon Byleth as an elder sister. The fastidious Lorenz whom Byleth had pulled to his feet after he lay defeated at the Great Bridge of Myrddin; he fell an enemy but arose a friend once more.

She still loved the ones she could not save: bright Petra, naive Ferdinand and shy Bernadetta, the sight of their broken bodies haunting her to this day. Linhardt, Caspar, Raphael and Marianne, none of whom she had seen in years and feared the worst for. Even Edelgard and Hubert lingered in her mind - though neither had been easy to love. 

Well and truly, she adored them all. Each had needed her at one time or another - but above them all, Dimitri needed her the most. Above them all, Dimitri adored _ her _the most. That was why she had accepted his proposal of marriage. 

On the Twentieth Day of the Horsebow Moon, the Year 1186, Byleth's twenty-_ somethingth _birthday, King Dimitri took her as his wife. An incredibly beneficial marriage by all accounts.

Dimitri's heart longed for decentralisation of power that would allow the commoners, the burgess, civil parishes and districts, to have a more significant say in the governance of the countries and duchies within which they resided. However, there was no denying that to give away _ too much _ power to others would undermine his position in the long run. The key to survival was to be fair yet threatening.

This was where _ Byleth's _position came in. After all - it was she who had crowned Dimitri.

Her perceived divinity was vital for many reasons. From the founding of the Adrestian Empire, it was believed that the emperor's power was derived from the Goddess herself through Seiros, Her representative on Earth. Then, when Loog the 'King of Lions' had won independence for Faerghus, it had been the archbishop who acknowledged the new Kingdom and blessed it within the eyes of the Goddess.

Rhea had made no secret of her belief to the apostolic conclave that Byleth was nothing short of a holy avatar of the Goddess-on-Earth akin to, if not greater than, Seiros. This madeher consecration as archbishop before the College of Cardinals for the Church a reasonably smooth affair. From there, the cardinals dispatched their 'little birds' to spread the words down the clerical foodchain that the faith was in good hands.

After all, it was important for the commoners to view Byleth as the undisputed spiritual leader of Fódlan and for the nobility to perceive her as one with supreme authority on Earth.

Archbishops were by nature conduits for the Goddess, or so Byleth learned through Seteth's instruction. When Loog, the King of Lions, had won independence from the Empire, his recognition by the Church had provided significant weight to his legitimacy. Now, it was through Byleth that Dimitri was crowned the undisputed King within Fódlan.

He was the Saviour King, anointed by the Divine Byleth - and they were married, joining Church and State as one. To the outside world, Byleth would be the Seiros to Dimitri's Wilhelm in the founding of a new realm.

Some questioned whether an Archbishop could marry at all, let alone wed a monarch, though, the cardinals had conveniently deemed it permittable. There was no order within the sacred scriptures of the Church against an Archbishop marrying, and many saw it as a highly desirable match given the exceptional circumstances following the war. 

Their main concern had been drawing the lines of power. It was understood that as queen-consort and archbishop, Byleth's duties would overlap - but they were ultimately separate. There were no privileges to be made for the consort of an archbishop. _ Her _title was not hereditary nor subject to dynastic struggles. Dimitri's power began and ended with Faerghus. In other words, Byleth wore two-hats: the episcopal tiara of the Church and the queenly circlet of Faerghus, while Dimitri wore a single, clear crown.

Of all the regions within Fódlan, the aptly titled Holy Kingdom of Faerghus was by far the most religious and beholden to the Church. So, Byleth's position as the latter likely outweighed her role as consort to their king. In some ways, she suspected that it thrilled them to know their very own Saviour King was one step away from the divine.

It seemed perfect. 

_ Too _perfect. 

But whatever doubts Byleth already had she ignored, and busied herself with the task at hand.

Now he was king, Dimitri's main wish was to see through the ambition that had once been his father, the late King Lambert's. He sought not to be the absolute ruler of Fódlan but to open up the government to the commons and reduce the influence the Dukes had over the lesser-nobles and laity who answered to them. A large part of that was to change the way people thought about blood and crests.

_ "A man should be judged by the content of their character," _ Dimitri had announced to the first meeting of his Privy Council, _ "not by the crest they may or may not possess." _

Many of the nobility had immediately pushed back, looking to the queen-consort/archbishop one for clarity.

_ "The Goddess loves all of her children," _ Byleth assured in her best 'Rhea' voice. _ "The time has come to cast aside these crutches such as crests and relics." _

Sylvain and Ingrid swiftly became the pioneers of Dimitri's stance against 'crest supremacy'. Newly handfasted and keen to prove a point, both surrendered the Lance of Ruin and Luin to the Church, remarking that they would _ "use the same weapons as any other knight." _ That single act had struck a chord better than anything Dimitri or Byleth could have said. 

By far, the Srengish of the north were the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus's most aggressive neighbours, and Sylvain was a greenhorn Margrave charged with defending the very marcher lands they bordered. All and sundry were convinced that Sylvain was a fool to surrender his family's prized possession, and awaited the day when he would beg Byleth for it back. 

That day did not come.

Over a year, Sylvain's ability to deal with swarm attacks and raids from Sreng as quickly as they began_ without _the Lance of Ruin gave some pause. Not much pause, though, as much to Sylvain and Ingrid's annoyance, people still attributed their success crests rather than their skills as a Margrave and Margravine.

But Sylvain was determined to put his money where his mouth was. 

Shortly after their marriage, Ingrid fell pregnant with their child. Then, on the Twenty-seventh Day of the Garland Moon, the Year 1187, Conor Frederick Gautier was born healthy and utterly crest-less.

From the moment Conor was born, he had been the centre of his parent's world. They were swift to declare him as Sylvain's undisputed heir, regardless of whether they later had a child with a crest. Letters from them recounted every detail of his growth: his first laugh, babbles that might be words, first _actual _words, rolling over, standing up, walking and more. 

Shortly before the new year celebrations, Byleth met the child for the first time. 

Conor was an adorable little boy with a tuff of red hair, a musical giggle and a wonderful smile. So happy and merry - what did it matter if he didn't bear a crest? The sight of that sweet little toddler waddling around had been one for sore eyes, making Byleth's lips smile but her heart sting. 

After all, it had been just over a year of marriage, but her womb was still very much empty. 

Garreg Mach swiftly became as a respite from the Fhirdiad court for Byleth. Intrigue could be exciting, but as the months rolled on, she grew weary of the gossip being mainly about her.

Specifically, her not yet being pregnant despite Dimitri's 'valiant efforts'.

The act was nice enough, though ultimately, deep inside, she felt a dull ache within her chest; a sense of something lacking—something she frustratingly did not understand nor know how to express. Therefore, she stayed silent.

It was better to focus on the task at hand.

Discussing how change might be implemented had been 'fun' for Byleth and her former students. One vision Dimitri had, in particular, was replicate the Church of Seiros's military model and build a standing army of professional soldiers, rather than relying on lords to raise levies.

_ "Excellent idea, boar!" _ Felix commended, having officially taken-up his title as the Duke of Fraldraius and taking Annette as his Duchess. _ "We might actually get some half-decent soldiers if we do that instead of shoving peddlers and farmers onto the frontlines." _

Byleth agreed. 

Now she was the archbishop she found herself at the head of a large, imposing army, which Rhea had used to ensure any deviation from the teachings of Seiros would be quashed with ease. No doubt centralising the forces would benefit a king seeking to change civil affairs, too drastically.

Byleth knew none of this would be achieved without a fight. 

This was a practical side to Dimitri's marriage to her - a slight against the King was now an attack on the Church and vice versa. 

_ "A standing army won't only improve the quality of troops," _ Ingrid cited, taking the opportunity the new year's even reunion brought to sit in on the Council meeting. _ "It will allow commoners to develop something of a 'trade' in the army. They couldn't dream of holding such high rank in an army before. Unless they were part of a mercenary company or in the Church army, of course." _

_ "Indeed," _ Dimitri nodded. _"It is an ambitious plan, but the tides are turning in our favour. Fódlan is changing, and with it, our outlook." _

It had made Byleth proud to see her student finally voicing the ideas he had once only spoken to her in confidence. The satisfaction she derived from his triumph in public was enough to distract her from the lack of physical passion she felt when they were in private.

_ "But let us push further discussions back until the new year," _ the king had decided then with a thin smile. " _ I have a feeling the year 1188 will be a turning point for us all." _

A turning point, indeed.

Sure enough, a letter unexpectedly arrived from the great nation to the east, Almyra and penned by none other than the Shahzad, the Crown Prince himself. 

Yes, on the thirty-first day of the Lone Moon, the last of the year 1187, Claude returned to their lives in the most unexpected way imaginable. And Byleth's chest swelled with a sensation she thought she would never feel again.

* * *

* * *

✷

_ Eighteenth Day of the Red Wolf Moon, the Year 1188. _

Hundreds upon hundreds of leagues from Fhirdiad, Byleth battled on the frontlines of a battle. She fighting an old enemy thought to have been vanquished, the mysterious mages of Edelgard who had fled during the siege of the Imperial Palace. They had seemingly returned to carry on the imperial fight despite the death of their ruler, using Caspar's elder brother, Jakob, Count of Bergliez, as their new figurehead.

They had crossed the Gwydion bridge, just downriver of Myrddin, and had laid waste to the small township on the Gloucester side of the Airmid, killing the Baron.

The betrayal of his deceased peer's sibling had enraged Dimitri - but Byleth had purposefully planned to combat the uprising in the south before a single word of the matter was spoken to Dimitri.

And she would achieve it without him. 

_ He is not in the right state of mind to deal with Adrestia; she _justified to herself. Dimitri had good months and bad months, but this year had been harsh overall. The tensions between Faerghus and Sreng, the public pressures of kingship clubbed together with their personal difficulties in producing an heir, had flung him into a 'sensitive' state. 

This betrayal by Count Bergliez, aided by none other than the fiends who created Edelgard's monsters and abetted her most heinous acts, only added to Dimitri's growing temper.

Byleth knew the best course of action had been to occupy Dimitri with another task. She reasoned that her husband was better placed in Fhirdiad, aiding Sylvain against the northern menace, the Srengish _Konunger _Wilfrith, instead of coming south where his unguarded fury towards the remnants of Edelgard's faction might get him killed. 

To spare Dimitri's pride he had told him and the Privy Council that, as archbishop and geographical neighbour to Gloucester, it made more sense for her armies and those of Leicester and its allies to handle the uprising in the south. She had been more than relieved when they agreed, and several months later, she felt the same despite her lack of military resources with Dimitri at home.

In fact, Byleth lacked her best people in general.

Hilda was in Gloucester nursing her newborn daughter, Susannah Geneviève, and managing the estate in Lorenz's place while he accompanied Byleth to war. 

Dedue, these days more a steward and bodyguard than a general, had rightly remained with Dimitri. 

In Gautier, Sylvain and Ingrid were naturally on the frontlines against Sreng, holding on as best they can so as not to call on their king for aid. Felix was assisting the pair while Annette was heavy with child and soon to enter her confinement. He had left her at Garreg Mach to await his return and the birth of their child.

Mercedes was at the monastery also, preparing for the birth and the influx of injured. Seteth had outright refused to allow Flayn to endanger herself in this particular skirmish, ordering her to remain with Mercie to await the wounded.

Byleth could not take any chances, so she had left Captain Alois to command the remained of her forces back at Garreg Mach with Ignatz and Hanneman. The former lead the left and the latter the right flanks. Shamir had left Fódlan a while ago while Manuela had not stepped on a battlefield for years, nor had Dorothea. Elsewhere, Yuri never left Abyss unless ordered to by Byleth - but she preferred knowing his ears were still close to the ground at home. He was always more a spy than a soldier, anyway.

Constance had long since left, returning to rule Nuvelle and doubtless on standby to provide aid to either Dimitri or Byleth should she be asked. 

Hapi had been missing for a very long time, and Byleth had no idea where Balthus slunk off to either.

All that remained with Byleth were Ashe, Lorenz and Leonie as her commanders, though she thanked Sothis within her that she could always rely on Seteth, Cyril and Catherine as well. She kept Lysithea, close by as her skill with all forms of magic made her a vital adjacent for the archbishop-queen on the frontline. Together they had marched the Kingdom and Church platoons to meet the imperial dastards at Gwalchmai's Mouth.

Byleth had terrorised them upon the battlefield with her Sword of the Creator. Becoming the infamous Ashen Demon, she had mercilessly run then down with her battalion until their line had been broken, pushing the enemy back. Back, and around until they slammed into another army headed by Fódlan's most significant and closest ally: the newly crowned King of Almyra.

In truth, the only success of the year had been securing the treaty with him.

Claude had looked magnificent atop his glorious ivory-toned wyvern as he commanded his mounted Almyran archers to lay waste to the dark mages, while the Holy Kingdom's knights cut down their rear. Most of the enemy fled, scrambling over rocky hills soaked from earlier rainfall and their own blood; those that remained found themselves trapped in the pincer envisioned by the two greatest strategic minds of their day. 

Or so everyone praised once the battle was over. 

It had gone down as beautifully as it had when they had conceived the notion together a few nights before. Byleth's body lurched at the memory of the moment when she realised they could use those mountains and Claude's fliers to their advantage; then lurched again at the remembrance of his lips upon her neck and breath against her ear, praising her thinking. 

Right now, she had to be the model of professionalism.

They needed to prepare for the clean-up and the next battle, which meant another strategy meeting. Byleth called her commanders in. Lorenz's arm was in a sling as he had sustained a burn to his shoulder. Ashe had a nasty cut above his right brow. Leonie and Lysithea were more or less unscathed, as too were Cyril and Seteth, though Ashe rather anxiously recounted how Catherine had taken a Bolting for him. She would be fine but was still receiving treatment.

Claude informed her then that most of his own commanders had sustained only minor injuries with the worst being Nader. He had dismounted to attack an enemy commander better, only to slip on a wet rock and gash his arm. The elder, burlier and proud man laughed it off, noting that he _"still got the bastard, didn't I?" _Looking at him now, Byleth could see that to him the injury was little more than an irritating scratch - though one that should probably be seen to.

"I thank you all," she began stoically, looking between her own men and the Almyrans. "Every single one of you secured this victory, and this turning point in our struggle against the Dark Mages of Edelgard."

"We must now pursue them with all haste," Claude added immediately. "Those who have sustained the worst injuries will be sent back behind the lines to Garreg Mach, and remain there to bolster our reserve once they recover. The archbishop has already made preparations to receive them. The rest of us will pursue the enemy. With any luck, this next battle will be the final, final one that ends it. _ Finally _."

Byleth knew it was all fluff - he knew as well as she did that there was no 'final' in war.

"We cannot allow them to regroup," he continued. "The archbishop and I will devise our next strategy tonight; at first light, we run them down."

The Almyrans (save for Cyril) cheered with the gusto one would expect of them. While many Fódleans might look upon their eastern neighbours as aggressive and belligerent, their seemingly unshakeable spirit in the face of death made them a vital asset. Though tensions had been initially high between her own Kingdom-Church forces and Claude's foreign army, they had ultimately helped to boost one another's war-weary morale. The quiet dignity of the Fódleans and the loud zeal of the Almyrans had made for a complementary match._ "Put two enemies together and then point them at a bigger enemy - they'll quickly figure out how to play nice_," was how Claude summed it up.

"We will hold another meeting this evening once we have ascertained the enemy's whereabouts," Byleth declared. "For now, rest and savour your achievements. We're back on the march tomorrow. Except for Seteth, Ashe and Cyril, you are dismissed."

Neither she nor Claude looked at one another as the commanders filed out, leaving only themselves, Seteth and the two younger men. 

"Are you well enough to scout for us, Ashe?" she asked immediately.

"I am," he promised.

"I need you both to head in the direction the enemy retreated and find out where they went."

"You both know the drill," Claude nodded. "Try to get a good idea of the terrain. The archbishop and I can only do so much with a few scrawls on a map. You must let us know if there are any nasty surprises ahead."

The neighbouring sovereign king handed the younger Almyran a copy of the map. 

Cyril bowed firmly, "You can count on us."

Seteth watched as the two young men departed from the tent before turning to his leader. "What did you need me for, Lady Byleth?"

"I need you to ensure that our wounded make it safely back to Garreg Mach and that our reserves have a clear path through should we require them," the archbishop-queen decreed.

The older man flinched, his scowl deepening the fine lines of age on his face. "I must leave you here alone?"

"I am not alone," she assured him with a tiny smile. "You know I am not... but I need someone who I completely trust to do this. You are a capable commander, more seasoned than anyone else I have back at the monastery. That's why it must be you. You will leave after the meeting tonight."

He concurred but certainly did not look happy.

"What about the king? Do you wish me to compose an update for him of our victory here today?"

Those were his two usual tasks: command of the church armies and writing Byleth's letters for her. She found herself glancing over to Claude to check how he felt about this. The mention of Dimitri had not phased him; he stood with his usual smile, the one that never reached his eyes. Realising that she wanted his opinion on whether updating Dimitri was wise at this point, he gave her a sideways nod of approval before she turned back to Seteth.

"Yes, if you would," she said finally. "Though allow me to read and add to it before it is sent. We must not be too hasty in resting on our laurels. Again, tonight."

Seteth bowed his head with a repeat of "tonight" before taking his leave of them. "Your Grace," he spoke to Byleth and, "Your Royal Highness," to Claude.

Their eyes watched as he departed and left them alone with several half-full wine cups and the large map spread before them. Byleth let out a deep sigh while Claude stretched his shoulders and neck before grabbing his own rather full cup to take a sip.

"What now, 'Your Grace'?"

She ignored his facetious tone, reaching for her own barely-touched drink as she leaned over the map and tried to take it in. "I hope they find something we can use."

"Ashe and Cyril are two of the most reliable lads you could have put on this task," he assured her. "If they don't notice anything, then our job here--" indicating the map with a pinky-finger, "--will be much simpler."

Byleth's own fingers drummed against paper and table.

"Where do they disappear to after the retreat?" she wondered aloud. "We've been at this for the last moon and have you ever encountered an enemy camp?"

"You've been wondering about that as well?"

He put the cup down and pointed to a particular spot. "When I was out there, those who made it out before we encircled them went this way. If they aren't going back to camp, perhaps they have a permanent settlement nearby?"

Byleth scowled at his finger. "The nearest village is some four- or five-leagues away. I suppose it's possible, but I know for a fact that a competent mercenary group is stationed there who would tell me if a single one of those dark mages reared their heads."

"Oh, would they?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "They are my father's company. I know us mercs have a reputation for selling to the highest bidder, but they wouldn't betray me, no matter the price."

Claude sniggered. "I bet they wouldn't dare."

She watched as he marked the village off with a token. Then, as his finger ran against the painted lines until it found her hand. Placing his palm above it and linking their digits together, he indicated the area around where the enemy had lumbered off to. 

"With that in mind, we can presume then that they are heading no further than the village," their fingers came to rest in the valley that stretched from the battlesight to said token-shaped village. After a pause, Claude hummed with interest. "Notice anything interesting?"

Byleth tilted her head, making no move to retrieve her hand.

"The valley, the cliff-sides... there are a few caverns and grottos--"

She blinked and looked at him.

His dark-green eyes glimmered with the same realisation. "Exactly."

"They are using the cave systems?"

"Well, why not? It's a good a theory as any."

Biting her lip, she stared at the map and tried to identify all of the cave entrances that the cartographer had known. "Hiding in the pitch black," she spoke under her breath. "Perhaps they're hoping we'll pass them by. Then once we are far enough away from our vantage point, they'll appear right behind us."

"Hm," Claude mumbled uneasily, envisioning such a disastrous situation. His brow creased, and he tightened his grip on her hand, squeezing it gently. "I've read that a great network of caves exists beneath the earth, many of which are interconnected. You could probably enter one in Fódlan and come out in Almyra if you zig-zagged through one for long enough. Thinking on a smaller scale, some of these caves could also be connected, allowing these bastards to pop out wherever they want."

"But," Byleth interjected, "wouldn't we see the light from the caves? Surely they would need torches to get around?"

"I suppose." His arm encircled her torso, pulling her in towards his own body and provoking another sigh from her. "Though," he added, bringing his face closer to hers. "If they are deep enough within the cavern, we wouldn't see them... and as capable as I think Ashe and Cyril are I don't fancy sending them on a fact-finding mission to tell us for sure. Not if we ever want to get them back. Right now, I'll settle for it being a 'working hypothesis'."

He placed a kiss behind her ear.

"Behave yourself! We're supposed to be working."

"We _are _working," he snickered, giving the lobe a small nibble. Despite Byleth's words, she leaned back against him with a pleased hum. "I think we're making excellent progress."

She might have just melted there and then... but she still tried to maintain some semblance of resistance. She smiled despite herself. "Oh, and you think you deserve a break already? You've always sought rewards for even the most minimal of efforts, even at school."

"I can't help if I've always responded best to the positive reinforcement of my favourite Teach." His free hand made its way up her body, brushing over her bare abdomen. The sensation made her shiver.

"Some might call it vain."

He snorted. "You're only now figuring this out about me?!"

The wandering hand found the way to the top of her corset before beginning to delve inwards, caressing a mound - then pinching a nipple. At this she bulked, speaking in a harsh, frantic whisper.

"Stop! Someone might walk in."

"They won't," he assured her. "I left instructions we were not to be interrupted until the official meeting tonight. 'We can't strategise if people keep distracting and obstructing our thought processes,' so I said."

"...and _this _isn't supposed to be distracting?"

"No, it's supposed to get you in the mood."

He began to kiss her neck.

"People might hear..."

"Then you better keep it down."

"_Claude!" _

At that, he groaned in an almost-comedic frustration and spun her around. Ironically, he looked much firmer and steadfast, in stark contrast to the fragility Byleth felt gathering in her limbs. She was grateful for his hands on her forearms lest she was to collapse into a puddle on the floor. They were face to face for the first time that day, since the last time they were together like this.

"They didn't catch us last night," he contested. "Nor the day before that, nor the one before _that_. Or that time in the forest - now _that _was risky of you! Even I was impressed. Not to mention the very first time, all the way back at the Officers Academy--"

"Claude."

"When we_ finally _\--!"

"Just _stop!" _

Her hiss almost crossed the line of a whisper into dangerously loud.

With a heavy exhale, his shoulders dropped. Taking a step back, he lifted his hands in surrender. "Fine. If you don't want to, that's fine. Let's reconvene in ten minutes - no, let's make it fifteen minutes. Twenty tops. I just need to--_ ahem_, sort myself out, so to speak."

Byleth stumbled backwards into the table, gripping the edges for support. She felt so weak, as though her bones had lost all-purpose. He had such power over her; it drove her insane. Taking deep breaths, she stared into space for a few seconds before she dared to look at him again. He expected her to provide her approval of his "plan". 

Instead, she closed her eyes and said:

"I didn't say 'no'; I said, not _here_."

It took her another moment before she felt capable enough to stand straight, take his hand and lead him beyond a partition, into a small makeshift study. Amidst the stacks of books, piles of papers and rolls of maps there was a small desk and an ordinary chair set against it with a modest, well-worn cushion atop it. Then, to the side of that was a cot.

They were Byleth's official quarters, which were somewhat grander and befitting an archbishop-queen. Due to Byleth's habit of staying up late to fiddle about with her plans, write non-Seteth approved letters or simply read, the cot was handy for comfort and cold nights when she felt too tired to walk back to her own tent. She had lived as a commoner most of her life, so in some ways, this set-up felt more 'her'.

Placing the partition back across, Byleth turned around and enveloped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. 

The sound it induced from him was a sigh that was nothing short of utter relief. Claude placed his hands on her back and tilted her sideways, slipping his tongue into her mouth. Accepting him with an approving moan, she arched her back as far forward against him as she could, offering herself to him. As she most certainly would again and again before this war was over. 

Shortly after, she finally broke the kiss. 

Tenderly her hands found his, linking their fingers together as he had done earlier. As their eyes met once again, she smiled and slowly led him towards the cot. 

"We shouldn't be too long," she whispered reluctantly, beginning to disrobe before laying back. "Someone could still walk in and hear."

He stifled a chuckle, mumbling, _"quick and quiet, gotchya!" _under his breath, as he moved to loosen his sash, the anticipation making her shiver. She only felt warm again once he finally freed himself from his ornate garbs and propped himself above her. Her body was buzzing; blood scorching; pulse-pounding. If her heart was beating, she was sure it would have skipped too. She writhed as she felt him brushing against her, cursing him for teasing her like this, like always. 

_ "Please," _she rasped. "I want you."

This time he didn't make her wait. He smothered her mouth with his own to catch the whimpers that escaped her throat as he took her, and then kissed her some more as they began to make love. 

Through the haze of pleasure and joy, Byleth locked herself around him with her arms and legs, as if to clutch him was to cling to life itself. His lips smirked with approval of her edacity as he sank deeper and deeper with each focused thrust, provoking more mewls of euphoria from her.

"I _love _it when you hold me like this," he purred, slowing his pace some, "...when you make these _amazing _sounds for me..."

"...please, _don't stop _."

The strangled laugh that escaped him reverberated through her.

She knew it was wrong that she should feel guilty for this. She was married, an archbishop and the queen-consort. Yet any regret she ever felt was repressed by how right being with Claude felt. It was like she had found the other part of herself. He had a stupid bookend analogy to describe it: "_We might have a lot of distance between us, but we belong together." _ He could have likened their passion, their love, their tragic affair to anything but -- bookends? She supposed she understood the sentiment. They were apart more than they were side-by-side. Yet they were as one, and whether abed or planning their next course of action in battle, Claude made her feel complete.

It seemed ironic because of all her students - from the Blue Lions to the Black Eagles and his own Golden Deers - Claude was ultimately the one who had needed her the _least_. During the Five Year War, he had held the Alliance against Edelgard. After that, he had travelled to many lands beyond the borders of Fódlan; united the warring petty princes of Almyra under his royal father; and then rose to take the crown himself with his father and his people's blessing. He had done all of that. Had she chosen to lead Edelgard's or Claude's class instead, would Dimitri have achieved so much without her? Or would he have been another broken body upon the field of Gronder, one of the many that she could still see in her mind's eye?

She closed her eyes as she felt herself growing closer to ecstasy.

Claude would still be here, though. She believed that no matter what. Even if they were enemies and her sword was the one hovering above his head, he would escape and live another day. He would always find a way to survive. Always find his way to her like this. Not because he needed her but because he _wanted _her.

Byleth keened. Claude muffled her cry, and his own, with one last heavy kiss. Her body quivered from her orgasm, the heat of his own release aglow deep inside her.

* * *

✷

The evening seemed to come quickly. 

After dinner, the commanders were called back into the war-tent to discuss the plans for the coming battle - and to receive Ashe and Cyril's report. As suspected, they had caught sight of some unusual activity at the lip to one of the cave entrances, feeding into Byleth and Claude's theory that the caves were serving as a shelter for the enemy. The only question was, how would they use this to their advantage?

Claude stated that it would be most useful if they could somehow draw them out under false pretences. Taking the tokens and markers for the map, he explained the plan - what his army would do, where the Kingdom-Church army would come in, how they might introduce the reserve if needed - and he pointed towards the village. 

"The archbishop has allies stationed at the village; we have already sent word to them to stand ready to defend the settlement should it become a target."

"Jeralt's mercenaries!" Leonie gasped, eyes bright as she looked to Byleth.

The archbishop-queen just nodded and smiled, eyes settling back on Claude.

He was so animated, so thorough and so very much in control of the room - revealing nothing. Byleth hoped she gave off the same aura, lest everyone there - Fódlean and Almyran, young and old, and Seteth - suspect how "the two greatest strategic minds of their day" had spent half of their secret tactics-talk today enthralled in adulterous lovemaking.

**Author's Note:**

> ##### Translations of High Almyran words
> 
> **shahzahd** (Simplified), or _xsahzahde_ translates as 'Crown Prince' or heir of the King in the Fódlan language. It's semi-inspired by the real-world Persian name "Shahzad", which means son of the king. However, I will be using the term as gender neutral, in keeping with the root word _jata_, which means "offspring" in Sanskrit. In High Almyran, "son of the king" is _**shahsennu**_, which refers to any blood (_damu_) male child of the king.
> 
> ##### Notes on Places
> 
> **Gwydion** is a barony town on the Leicester side of the Airmid river, bordering Gloucester and Ordelia territories. The Baron of Gwydion is a minor lord sworn to House Gloucester and manage checkpoints for goods coming and going from Adrestia via the Bridge of Gwydion.
> 
> **Gwalchmai's Mouth** is the opening to the mountainous area, called the Gwalchmai Ravine, between Bergliez and Hrym territory.


End file.
